“That’s against all the rules in the Free Companies’ Code,” the master sergeant said grimly.
“It certainly is.” Cort’s words rang like those of a judge pronouncing sentence.
“When the captains hear of this, they’ll turn on the Hawk Company in a body,” Otto predicted. “They will indeed,” Cort agreed. “That’s why the Hawks don’t dare let us live to tell of it.”
The master sergeant’s eyes widened. “You’re right, sir, of course! They’ll be back with three times their number!”
“And they won’t be surprised by a giant this time,” Cort said grimly. “Form up the men as soon as you can, sergeant! We have to march.” He turned away. “Sergeant Dulaine!”
“One more stitch, sir.” Incredibly, Dirk was sewing a man’s wound shut. He tied off the thread, broke it, and came over to Cort, tucking his needle away in a little wooden case that he slipped into his tunic. “Who the hell were they?”
“Two platoons from the Hawk Company, ambushing us before the battle begins,” Cort told him. “How long before our wounded are fit to travel?”
“Now, sir, if you carry them in litters,” Dirk said. “Seven of them can walk, but they can’t fight.”
“You and I will have to carry the dead on our horses until we can bury them,” Cort told him. “There’s no time now; the Hawks will be back with three times our number, maybe with their whole company. Set up litters.” Dirk nodded. “Yes, sir.” He turned away and called, “How many of those brown-coats will live until their friends come back, Gar?”
“They all will, if their buddies stay to take care of them,” the giant answered.
Cort stared. “You know each other?”
“Old friends,” Dirk told him. “He was supposed to meet me back in town, but he was late, so I left a note at the inn, telling him which road to take, and that there might be work for him at the end of it.”
“Oh, there surely is,” Cort said softly, “and he doesn’t even have to wait till he reaches headquarters.”
It made sense that they should know each other—the huge man’s accent was even worse than Dirk’s. Cort raised his voice. “You there! Giant!”
The big man’s head snapped up; he scowled. “Yes, little man?”
Cort stiffened, and Dirk said quickly, “He doesn’t like to be called names any more than any of us do.”
“My apologies,” Cort called stiffly.
“Accepted.” Gar stood and came over to the officer; his head was as high as the horse’s. “I’m Gar Pike at your service, sometime officer and sometime sergeant.”
“I’m only a lieutenant, so I can only hire you as a sergeant,” Cort told him, then turned to call. “Sergeant Otto?”
“Yes, sir?” the noncom called as he came over. “Will you accept yet one more sergeant?”
“Him?” The master sergeant stared. “Be sure I will, sir, and I won’t be surprised if the captain promotes him over me!” He held out a hand. “I’m Master Sergeant Otto. You fought well.”
“Gar Pike.” The giant shook his hand. “It’s easy, when you can scare your opponents just by standing up.”
“No, I watched how you handled your sword,” the master sergeant said. “You’re damn good—but so was that Hawk lieutenant.”
“Yes, he was,” Gar said, frowning. “I hope they sent their best, because if the rest of their officers are that good, we’re in trouble.”
“You know they’ll come back, then?” Cort asked, surprised.
“I would,” Gar explained, “no matter why they attacked us. They weren’t just after loot, or they wouldn’t have picked on professional soldiers. No, we were their assignment, and they’re not going to leave it unfinished.”
“Wise insight,” Cort approved. “We have to march to some kind of stronghold.” He looked around at his makeshift cadre. “Any ideas?”
Gar pointed to the northeast. “I passed a town with a small castle on my way here. The peasants in the fields were well dressed, so I’d guess it’s a free town.”
“A good guess!” Cort’s spirits lifted. “Free towns always want to keep mercenaries on their side—they never know when they’ll need us.” Then he frowned. “Of course, they could be the ones who hired the Hawk Company.”
“I didn’t see anyone in that uniform around there,” Gar told him, “and if the peasants were out hoeing, they weren’t expecting a battle. Besides, if these Hawks had been there and had expected a fight, they would have challenged me or tried to recruit me, not just let me ride through.”
“True.” Cort nodded. “Will you carry a dead man across your horse’s rump, Sergeant Pike?” Gar smiled slowly. “I like an officer who won’t leave his dead if he doesn’t have to. Of course I’ll carry a dead man, sir, and a live one, too, if I have to.”
“It may come to that,” Cort admitted. “How far away is this castle?”
“A dozen miles.” Gar pointed northeast again, off to the side of the road. “I came overland.”
“Then you found a route that doesn’t need a road, and won’t leave trampled crops to show where we’ve gone?”
Gar nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Then lead us!” Cort ordered, and turned back to Sergeant Otto. “Load up! We march!”
They marched for the rest of the day, slowly because of their walking wounded, and when the sun set, Cort had to call a halt. The wounded men sat down heavily right where they stood, but the others set to pitching camp and warming dinner.
“We can’t rest long, sir,” the master sergeant said.
“I know,” Cort said, frowning. “I wish I had some notion how far behind us the Hawks are.”
“A day’s march,” Gar said with certainty. “I followed them in until I had to cut off to find the village.”
“A day?” Cort said with relief. “Then we can rest for a few hours.” It occurred to him to wonder how Gar could have followed so many soldiers and still have seen peasants hoeing without fear, but he had other things to worry about.
“How long do we rest, sir?” Sergeant Otto asked.
“Six hours at the most,” Cort told him. “Then we’ll move out.”
“Marching at midnight?” The sergeant major paled. “But the Fair Folk, sir!”
“We’ll have to chance it. After all, I haven’t seen a Hollow Hill anywhere along the route.”
“There might be one farther ahead, sir,” the master sergeant protested.
“Hollow Hill? Fair Folk?” Gar frowned. “Why should we fear them?”
Cort turned to him in surprise, then remembered. “That’s right, you’re a foreigner.”
“I’ll tell him while we pitch camp,” Dirk said, and led Gar away, talking in low tones, but Cort did catch the phrase, “gas domes.” He wondered what Dirk was saying—and Gar, for that matter. He overheard the big man telling Dirk something about doing as the Romans do. He had heard of Romans, of course, but they were just legends, tales that grandmothers told as the winter nights drew in. What did Romans have to do with Fair Folk?
He dismissed the thought—he had worse worries at the moment. He wondered just how far away the Hawk Company camp was, and hoped Gar was right.
The very beautiful girl started to unlace her bodice, then reached down to shake Cort’s shoulder. “Wake up, lieutenant!” she insisted.
Cort wanted to do anything but wake up. Actually, he had something very definite he wanted to do, but the girl said “Wake up!” again, and this time she had a deep basso voice. Cort shoved himself up on one elbow as the girl faded to nothing, and forced his eyes open to see the banked and glowing campfire. Alarm jolted through him; he sat up, staring around, and saw Gar.
“Good, you’re awake,” the big man said. “I made a mistake about the Hawks, lieutenant.” Cort scrambled to his feet. “Are they here?”